


where wild flowers are roaming free

by honeybeesandappletrees



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Multi, POV Second Person, Slice of Life, equinox inspired, hello I really like plants and flowers, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 22:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18226199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybeesandappletrees/pseuds/honeybeesandappletrees
Summary: spring can be gentle, and so can she.





	where wild flowers are roaming free

You fall asleep in winter and wake up in spring.

The equinox comes like spring rain, a sudden shower of fresh, cool water that nourishes. It is not entirely unexpected, of course. The days have been stretching longer with their golden light. The buds - crocuses, you suspect - have been starting to push through the thawing ground, small and slow but the deep, verdant green of new life.

You rise with the first golden rays of the sun peeking over the horizon. When you peer out your window, you can just make out the gentle sway of the ferns at the treeline. It’s a chilled morning, but the crisp bite of the cool air is softer at the edges. You are sure it will fade into something gentler still. 

By the time you head towards the small section of the kitchen you’ve sectioned off to make a smaller, more intimate area just for you and your Food Souls, there are long fingers of dim sunlight reaching through the windows. You’re quiet as you move, your slippered feet soft against the wooden floor, and it pays off. There’s a quiet hum of voices that grows steadily louder as you draw closer.

You peek around the corner and the warmth that washes through you makes your heart flutter. Yellow Wine - and he’s likely noticed you, most of the Food Souls are so good at sensing your presence that you rarely are able to sneak up on any of them - keeps reading aloud as Jiuniang leans over him. She’s using one small hand to balance herself as she peers at the book Yellow Wine is reading. Her smile is small, but it shines like a beacon. You contemplate coming back later, loath to interrupt the serene moment.

But Jiuniang glances up and her beaming smile only gets larger as she sees you. 

“Master-Master Attendant!” she chirps, even as she turns just slightly away from you, shy even now, months after her summoning.

“Stupid Attendant, you’re always interrupting,” Yellow Wine says gruffly, closing the book with a snap.

“Good morning,” you say, unfazed by Yellow’s temper, having had months to adjust to his peculiarities. After a few screaming matches that had practically shaken the restaurant (and sent poor Jiuniang cowering), the two of you had come to a tenuous truce. And if that truce entailed you mostly ignoring his insults, well, that was no real issue for you. He Contracted with you, after all, and even though it was a rocky start, seeing him with Jiuniang has softened you considerably. 

You step into the kitchen and reach for your usual mug. Despite Yellow’s words, there’s coffee already brewed, and Jiuniang can’t quite reach the cabinet you store the grounds in. You pour a cup quickly, bringing it up to your lips to hide your slight smile. When you turn back to the two Food Souls, your eyes are quickly drawn to the enormous cleaver resting against one of the empty chairs in the breakfast nook. You sigh. “No weapons in the kitchen, Yellow.”

He scoffs. 

You decide not to press any further and instead lean against the counter. “Do you want to come out with me today?”

“No,” Yellow says, just as Jiuniang stammers a timid yes.

“Wasn’t asking you,” you say brightly to Yellow, ignoring the way his brows draw together in a thunderous scowl. “Jiuniang, you want to come?”

She nods, her hood falling backwards with her movement. Yellow pulls it back up again with a quick maneuver that seems almost habitual.

“You sure?” you ask gently, knowing that she can be overwhelmed easily. 

She looks uneasy, one hand coming up to tug at her hair. You bite your bottom lip. “I was thinking of going to the meadow,” you say, knowing that you’re being a little manipulative in bringing up the one place outside of your restaurant where she seems the most relaxed. “The wildflowers should be just starting to bloom.”

“O...okay.”

“We’ll go in a bit, alright? I’ll meet you by the front door.”

She flashes you a small, shy smile and gives you a little nod.

“Great,” you say. Yellow stands as Jiuniang moves for the door. She’s so small next to him, a little sapling under a giant (grumpy) oak. But Yellow’s eyes are soft as he fusses over her for a moment, adjusting her hood slightly. She skitters away once he lets go of her hood, giving you a bashful wave as she goes. “It’ll be fun,” you call out after her.

The blade clatters against one of your counters as Yellow straps it to his lower back, just over his hips. You wince. “This is why we don’t have weapons in the kitchen.”

He glowers. 

You raise an eyebrow and finish off your coffee, dumping the mug into the sink to clean later. You head for the door as well, intent on getting a few things done before heading to the meadow with Jiuniang.

Behind you, Yellow mutters something.

“Hmm?” 

“...I said be careful, idiot. You’re always getting hurt doing something dumb.”

“Aw, Yellow! Love you too,” you say cheerfully.

You exit to the sound of Yellow’s sputtering.

* * *

As it turns out, the meadow also woke to find it had felt spring’s tender touch. Amid the grass, the delicate bells of snowdrops sway in the gentle, warming breeze, their pure white blossoms carpeting the ground. Jiuniang tugs on your hand as you hum in delight, leaning down to run your fingers over a soft petal of the sunshine bright cluster of daffodils at your feet.

“Look!”

You follow her gesture to a clump of carmine poppies. The deep crimson flowers are still unfolding, each petal like a gossamer shield for the heart of the bloom.

“Go ahead,” you say, and she lets go of your hand instantly, making her way to the cluster of flowers with unusual determination. You watch her go with a fond smile. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that in comparison to her, you’re the delicate one.

You busy yourself with searching out for the bright, ruffled edges of young curly dock. A patch pops up to your right. You kneel and start to harvest some of the leaves, flicking your small knife against the leaves as close to the stem as you can. grimacing slightly against the slimy texture. Jiuniang is not far. She’s still examining the poppies, as far as you can tell, but you do your best to keep your eyes on your task. The Food Soul seems to wilt under any scrutiny, no matter how benign, and you want her to enjoy herself. You’ve been trying to figure out a way around her timidity that puts no real pressure on her. It doesn’t help that most of your Food Souls are particularly brash. You’ve learned to tune most of them out when you need to do so.

You’ve harvested a quite a few curly dock plants - enough to make a large spring salad, knowing you can boost the salad up by adding in a few other early spring produce you’d picked up from the market, the freshly picked leaves adding in a depth of flavor that’s just on the right side of bitter - when the repetitive flick of your knife feels like a metronome of boredom. With a sigh, you stash the knife away and start to transfer your bounty into the small basket you’d carried out. You flop onto your back. The loam of the meadow is still damp and has retained the morning’s chill. You squirm, just slightly, until the sensation of your shirt sticking to your skin has faded into something more bearable.  


You can faintly hear Jiuniang humming to herself.

The sun is higher now, its golden rays warming even with the slight breeze, and you close your eyes. There’s tall grass flicking over your skin, soft and scratchy in the same breath. The earth beneath you smells of rich growth. The breeze is rustling, Jiuniang’s humming is soft and high and sweet, and you fade into sleep without even a moment of struggle.

* * *

“Hi,” you say without looking up, feeling the warm humming of your Sacred Contract pulling closer. The soft thrum of it feels luxurious in your lazy state, a soft touch on your half-awake consciousness. You’re still blinking away the remains of your cat nap, that dimly fuzzy feeling retreating slowly but steadily. The steady motion of your hands in Jiuniang’s hair helps you concentrate instead of relaxing into the caress of the Contract.

Toso settles down next to you. Her sword is slung over one shoulder. It looks effortless. She rests her chin on your shoulder to peer down at Jiuniang, seated in front of you. You keep braiding the young Soul’s soft hair, your fingers flashing in and out of the white strands like needlepoint as you weave the crocuses into the braid. The deep purple of the crocuses is more intense against Jiuniang’s pale hair, like a summer sunset fading into dusk is contained in the soft blossoms. 

Toso pulls her chin off your shoulder and turns her face up to the sun, like a flower seeking light. You take a moment to admire her strong profile, the proud quirk of her lips. Her gentle moments bring about a deep satisfaction in you. “No disasters to keep you busy, then?

She laughs, low and deep. “The only disaster here is you.” She reaches out and plucks a few strands of grass from your hair before swiping a finger over your cheek, rubbing some dirt away.

You roll your eyes, but heat rises to your cheeks at her fond tone.

Jiuniang squeaks as she peers back and sees Toso. You tug gently on her hair as she starts to rise, knowing that your brash Toso has an aura of intimidation that Yellow Wine wishes he could match. “I’m almost done,” you say quietly. “And then you should go show Yellow, right, Toso?” Normally you would balk at sending Jiuniang off when you intend to stay, but you’d briefly caught sight of the soft petal pink and green headpiece that could only belong to Yogurt before the Food Soul had disappeared to the other side of the tree line. Part of you thinks you can hear her chattering even with the distance. You know she’ll be happy to accompany Jiuniang back.

Toso opens one eye and casts a critical eye over your work. “I do think that imbecile would find you pretty,” she says. You jab out towards her with an elbow; she bats you away without even really moving.

“O...okay,” Jiuniang says. She’s twisting her cuff in both hands, the fabric pulling taut with the strain of it.

You sigh and finish the braid, tucking the loose end under another section of hair to hold it fast. There’s one more crocus in the bunch you’d plucked, a white blossom veined with soft purple, and you tuck it in Jiuniang’s hair. “Go ahead,” you say softly. “Yogurt and you should head back to the restaurant.”

She rises faster than you thought, practically stumbling away. You watch until she meets up with Yogurt. Yogurt sends you a wave. It’s all vigorous motion but she seems to calm when she takes Jiuniang’s hand.

“You need to be nice,” you say to Toso. “Poor thing was about ready to have a heart attack.”

“That doesn’t happen to Food Souls.”

“Toso.”

“I was being nice, anyway,” she grumbles, taking a sip from her ever-present wine before laying back against the grass, her face tilted to the clear sky once more. “‘Imbecile’ is about the kindest term I can use for him.”

You heave a sigh. 

“Come here.”

“I’m already right here,” you point out.

You yelp as a long arm winds around your waist and tugs you abruptly down. Toso’s slim, muscle-bound form is not a soft cushion. The air is knocked from your lungs as she uses her grip to pull you so that you’re chest to chest with her, your face tucked into the hollow of her neck. Toso seems completely unaffected by the turn of events, even though you’re pretty sure you elbowed her in the stomach in an instinct driven attempt to stay upright. When you attempt to shift, she tightens her grip around you. You pinch her lightly in the side, shifting again, but just slightly, trying to settle on top of her form comfortably.

The Sacred Contract winds around the two of you like vines, the roots of the bond between you two knitting together around your forms. It settles into your bones with a pleasant tingle. You relax onto the hard body beneath you, and Toso lets her arm fall low on your waist, cradling you to her loosely.

You drowse on top of her. The tips of her calloused, long fingers are softly brushing against you, just slipping under the hem of your shirt to sweep against your skin. The Contract flares brighter with each pass. Still, even with the Contract encompassing you, it’s not the most comfortable position.

Toso doesn’t complain when you shift off of her - the two of you have had a long talk about the durability of humans after a few misunderstandings about levels of comfort and pain. You flop back down to the ground next to her. The sun has warmed the meadow even more, the early spring rays creating just enough heat that even with the damp of the soil against you, it’s comfortable.

The Contract settles into its usual trill. It had taken both of you a bit to grow used to the steady, constant hum of it (the nights were the longest in those first few weeks, with sleep elusive as you would accidentally hone in on the sound-sense-touch of the Sacred Contract and be unable to concentrate on anything else) but now, you think, the loss of it would make the world so devastatingly silent.

Toso shifts next to you, her face turning up to the sun once more. She dips a single finger into her wine and brings it to her lips before going still again. Everything about her in this moment is loose, her muscles slack with relaxation, her breaths so soft that her chest is almost still. 

You admire her for a moment, enjoying the serenity the meadow has brought into her, knowing that these soft moments, while not rare, are a thing to be fully savored. You shift to toy with the edges of one of her long strands of hair. With the movement, you see a cluster of primroses, the flowers instantly recognizable with their heart-like petals, just behind her head.

The stems break easily under your questing fingers. Toso cracks an eye open to see what you’re doing. “Really?” she asks, already amused.

You nod.

“Fine.”

With a sigh, she props herself up on her elbows as you scramble up into a seated position, unable to keep the wide smile off of your face. You start to weave the buttermilk blossoms into one of the thin braids she keeps tucked behind her elfin ears. It’s simple work, really, your fingers tucking the stems into her thick lilac hair, twisting them subtly so they’ll stay in place. It doesn’t take long for you to dot both braids with the small blooms, each a subtle kiss of spring at odds with the proud angles of Toso’s face. 

The flowers somehow make her sharper edges all the keener, like the blade of her determination is brought forth against the fragile blooms. It’s comforting in a way you don’t think you can put into words.  


“You might as well put them in the rest, too,” she says, glancing over her shoulder and eying the sheer amount of primroses you’ve amassed.

You laugh. “I was hoping you’d let me.”

She sits quietly as you keep weaving in flowers to the rest of her hair, tucking them into her high ponytail and half-heartedly twisting them into the long, loose strands that they’re guaranteed to fall from quickly. 

It doesn’t take you long to finish, but the two of you linger a bit longer in the meadow. As your restaurant grows, it gets harder to have stolen moments with her. She’s not one for the restaurant work and you are almost always there, flitting between customers and the kitchen and the stockroom. And as your workload has grown, new Souls have entered your life, necessary to keep the momentum up. (“Oh my,” Pudding had sniffed just seconds into entering the restaurant for the first time. “It’s a good thing you summoned me.” Your sharp glance - a rarity reserved only for moments when you are deadly serious - was the only thing to keep a bristling Yellow at bay. Toso had broken at least five of Pudding’s new rules in one day.)

Still, eventually the two of you have to return to the restaurant. 

The walk through the woods is quiet and content. The breeze blows a sprinkling of primrose blossoms from Toso’s hair that form a meandering trail behind the two of you. Most of the blooms stay firmly put. 

She looks like a goddess of spring, with the sharp edges of frost melting away into something softer, warmer.

Toso wears the flowers in her hair until they start to wilt, and you can feel the roots of your Contract prepare to bloom once more.

**Author's Note:**

> (she also punches Yellow Wine bc he can't keep his big ass mouth shut about those flowers)
> 
> title is from Robert Edgar Burns' "The Meadow Poem"
> 
> you can pry soft!Toso out of my cold dead talons thank u very much
> 
> natch i missed equinox by a few days even tho it's one of the best days of the year and i just wanted to write about some good ass flowers. slightly related is that i really like roots/plant imagery for the Sacred Contract (really the contract as a whole) particularly with perennials in mind
> 
> my friends and i are idiots so we call flower braids 'flaids' bc all our dumb asses do is combine words into dumb portmanteaus
> 
> basically here have a 3k ode to flowers feat. toso bc i'm real in love with her (s w o r d w i f e)
> 
> one day i will not write a long author's note and one day i'll actually write a story with a lot of dialogue


End file.
